


It is (No) Fun to Play With Broken Toys

by IcyPanther



Series: My Favorite Toy [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Flu, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Invasion of Privacy, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Langst, Manipulative Lotor (Voltron), Mind Games, Non-Consensual Touching, Sick Fic, Sick Lance (Voltron), Sick fic with little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-08-29 19:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16750453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Lance has the space flu. A really, really bad case of it to where he can’t be left alone for his own safety but he risks getting everyone else sick too. Enter Lotor, who would be more than happy to help them in their time of need. Lance though knows the last thing Lotor actually wants to do is help him… it’s another game and just like before Lance doesn’t know the rules.Lotor looked down at Lance, dark amusement playing over his face. “Like I promised the lovely princess…” he smiled unkindly. “I will takeverygood care of you.”





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Takes place within season 5/6 but follows the AU events from the prequel, _Trust In Me_. Still technically canon compliant with events but with a much more (cough) sadistic and mind gaming Lotor than canon would ever show us he is. **READ THE FIRST PART OF THIS SERIES BEFORE READING THIS FIC!**
> 
>  **Warning notes:** Nothing technically but mind games again and Lotor enjoying making Lance uncomfortable and non-consenual touching (sort of a must given the circumstances). A sick!fic with very little comfort which is like a horror story in itself.

Lance curled up with a soft groan, arms wrapped tight about his middle for all the good they were doing as another shudder went through him from head to toe.

He was so  _ cold. _

Everything  _ hurt. _

He sniffled and pushed a frigid nose further into the crook of his arm.

He  _ hated  _ being sick.

And not just a cold. Nope. Coran had relayed on the transmission that Lance appeared to have some version of the flu.

Space flu.

Just what he’d always wanted.

Lance couldn’t quite remember all the details as Coran had gone off on a tangent and he was just so  _ tired  _ and  _ cold  _ and it was hard to concentrate, but essentially he was in quarantine away from his fellow humans because it was easily transmittable and they couldn’t afford for anyone else to get sick.

Lance understood that.

He didn’t like it.

Coran was away on a mission for the next two movements and although he’d offered to come back Lance had protested. Coran had more important things to do then babysit him and it was just a little flu. He’d be fine.

But within the hour he’d progressed from just feeling a little cold and achy to absolutely miserable and feeling like his body was trying to shiver out of its skin even though Allura had reported his temperature was at a converted one hundred and one and climbing.

Coran was not certain if Lance just had a very severe strain of it or if this was typical reaction for human biology.

All he knew was that Lance was very sick.

And all Lance knew was that was an understatement. He’d been sick before with the flu. It had  _ never  _ come on this fast, this severe.

He felt  _ awful. _

He wanted a hug and  _ warmth  _ and someone to tell him he was not dying and he was going to be fine, but all he had was Coran intermittently on a video screen and Allura, who was suited up in her armor complete with visor -- Alteans could catch it too but their bodies had a better chance although the situation was still not ideal -- but had to keep leaving to handle Coalition duties.

Allura was back in the infirmary now, talking to Coran on the monitor while Lance remained a pathetic lump on the bed, shivering beneath his jacket and wishing for the thickest blanket that existed.

He shivered again.

“--cannot be left alone like this,” Allura’s voice carried from where she was standing near the door, having just returned again from matters on the bridge. “His temperature keeps rising, Coran, and I do not…” Allura swallowed. “I do not know what to do.”

Lance shuddered but for a different reason.

Allura sounded…

Scared.

Over him.

“‘Llura,” he whispered, the sound not carrying past his arm. He shifted his head, throat tasting gummy and tried again. “‘L-llura.”

He did not just stutter.

Oh  _ Dios  _ he had.

But it had the desired effect as Allura made her way to his bedside, face drawn with concern.

“‘m fine,” he mumbled at her. “‘s okay.”

“Oh, Lance,” she reached a glove hand out settled it on his cheek. Even under the gloves and armor it felt warm and Lance leaned into it and nuzzled his cheek against it, hoping she didn’t smack him for it later.

He was so  _ cold. _

“Coran, he is getting worse,” Allura relayed, the hand leaving his cheek and then something cold pressing on his forehead. A soft beep echoed. “His internal temperature is up point two more degrees on the human’s scale.”

Another beep echoed and Allura let out a low curse. “It is the council again,” she muttered, whether directed to Coran or himself Lance didn’t know. “I am needed there, but--”

“G-go,” Lance told her, and his teeth clacked in his mouth.

“I cannot leave you alone like this,” she chided gently. “You are very ill, Lance.”

“‘m fine,” he protested. “You… you have… things.”

He frowned. Things to do. She had things to do.

His tongue felt as heavy as his eyelids and Lance slowly let them close even as he felt his cheeks flush and not from the fever.

_ Dios,  _ he sounded like an idiot.

Pathetic.

He’d already embarrassed himself enough when he’d stumbled into breakfast that morning, cheeks already pink and an uncomfortable ache building in his chest, but determined not to miss the upcoming meeting with the council because he needed to prove that he was a capable Paladin as even weeks later  _ fill-in  _ echoed in his brain and he couldn’t shake it, not fully, and faceplanted when his feet got tangled up in one another as moving them was taking more effort than normal.

Right in front of Allura.

_ Dios,  _ he wished he could have just died from the embarrassment, which got worse as she had knelt at his side and he’d puked on her boots.

He felt his face darken at the memory, even though Allura had remained professional through it all, hoisting him to his feet and she and Hunk guiding him to the infirmary. They’d gotten the diagnosis from Coran a little later and Hunk had been kicked out, ordered to decontaminate in the bay they used for space travel, and he was in a minor quarantine in his bedroom for the time being.  

He hoped he hadn’t gotten Hunk sick too.

The transmission beep sounded again.

“Oooh,” Allura fumed next to him. “Can they not wait a dobash? Coran, may I call you back shortly?”

“Of course, Princess.”

“Sorry,” Lance croaked.

This was his fault.

He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have gotten sick.

Now he was inconveniencing everyone.

“No, no,” Allura shushed him. “Lance--”

Another beep sounded.

Allura didn’t curse that time but let out a surprised little “oh!” that had Lance blinking open exhausted eyes.

Not the council?

“Lotor,” Allura said next to him and he could hear her smile, feel her straighten up.

His stomach dropped even as his eyes flew open.

Lotor?

_ Lotor? _

“Princess,” came the smooth voice across the feed. “I had hoped to speak with you about…” he trailed off. “Are you in your medical bay, Allura? Is everything all right?”

He sounded so  _ sincere  _ and concerned.

Lance felt even more sick.

He had actively managed to avoid most interactions with Lotor following his return to the castle after a trade gone wrong that ended with Zarkon dead. If they hadn’t recovered the body Lance would have thought it was some new trick.

Lotor had been preoccupied then with taking over the Galra Empire and claiming his spot on the throne and Lance had been more than fine with that turn of events as the prince, other than giving him some unsettling smiles and words that bled of sincerity but oozed poison in the presence of Allura and Shiro, had left him alone.

Lance had not complained one bit.

And when Lotor  _ finally  _ left the castle a few weeks later after successfully taking the throne following the Kral Zera Lance had breathed freely once more. Lotor’s words, his observations, had lingered but at least his touch had not.

Just like Lance had told himself that morning huddled in his room after Lotor had done… done whatever  _ that  _ had been, he was fine. Perfectly fine. He’d put all he had into training and improving himself, trying to listen attentively even when meetings had droned on, and doing whatever Allura or Shiro needed to prove that he was not just a good Paladin but a good  _ Red  _ Paladin and one they could trust and depend on and not a replacement, not a fill-in.

He hadn’t heard hide nor hair from Lotor in nearly two weeks, as the prince -- emperor now, Lance kept forgetting to change the title in his head and like quiznak he’d ever actually say it to Lotor’s face -- only spoke with Allura and on occasion Shiro, which only made his voice now after so much quiet echo like a gunshot.

“I am afraid not,” Allura shook her head. “Lance is very ill.”

And before Lance could ask her not to she was turning the datapad around and he was greeted by the sight of the Galran in some sort of workshop, looking as polished as ever.

Lance could see his own image in the bottom screen corner; flushed cheeks, sweaty brow and bangs, curled up in a tight ball and looking absolutely  _ pathetic. _

Lotor’s lip curled with something that made Lance’s stomach clench.

He was grateful when Allura turned the pad back to herself.

“I see,” Lotor sounded. “Some type of viral flu? With a fever, hm?”

“Yes,” Allura sighed. “A rather severe case, Coran believes, likely of the  qabow strain given we were just on Glorniax a quintant ago.   He was fine last evening but this morning…” Allura shook her head.

“If I may be so forward,” Lotor said, and Lance could  _ hear  _ the smirk, “I would be more than happy to take young Lance off your hands and provide him care at my base. That way you may be able to concentrate fully on your other duties and he will get the care and attention he needs.”

Lance froze mid-shiver.

What?

No.

No no no no.

“Lotor, I could not ask that of--”

“It is not a problem at all, Allura. Galrans are immune to most viral illnesses and I have a full medical staff on hand, although I assure you, I  _ personally  _ will make certain your Paladin is well taken care of.”

“‘L-llura,” Lance breathed, stomach clenching and not from nausea.

Not this.

Anything but this.

_ Dios  _ no.

Allura wouldn’t…

She  _ couldn’t… _

“That is incredibly generous of you, Lotor,” and Lance felt his breath unhitch,  _ gracias a Dios,  _ “but I know you are still settling in as emperor and--”

“Nonsense. I would not have offered if I did not mean it, Allura. I will take  _ very  _ good care of your Paladin. Please, allow me to repay the kindness and hospitality you once showed me.”

No.

Lance choked back a cry trying to wrench its way up his throat.

No.

_ Please. _

He couldn’t go with Lotor.

_ “You are my new favorite toy,”  _ he could hear the words as though they were being whispered directly in his ear.

_ Dios  _ no.

But…

But he couldn’t tell Allura why. Because then she’d know about before and then…

“If you are absolutely certain it is no trouble,” Allura said, and Lance could hear the nails being slammed into his coffin.

“And it is not.”

“Then I would be most grateful. Thank you, Lotor. Truly.”

“It is my pleasure. Anything for you, and Voltron, of course. I will be en route within the varga to retrieve him.”

“We shall see you then.”

Lance moaned low in his throat as Allura ended the transmission.

She mistook it for the illness rather than the curdling horror taking up residence in his stomach.

Oh _ Dios  _ no.

“Llura,” he tried again, too scared at what was to come to be embarrassed by begging now. “Pl-please. I… I’m  _ fine.” _

“You are very much not fine,” she countered gently, fingers stroking his cheek. “I am sorry, Lance. I know this is not ideal, especially when you are feeling so unwell. But you cannot be left alone and--”

Her tablet buzzed almost angrily.

“And I cannot stay as much as I wish it,” she continued, ignoring it for the moment. “Lotor has the facilities and personnel to make sure you have around the varga care and you will heal much faster under such attention.”

Attention.

That was the last thing he wanted.

He very well knew, just  _ knew,  _ that Lotor’s offer of personal care was not exaggerated. There would not be any other medical staff or Galra.

Just Lotor.

A whimper was torn from his lips.

“Please,” he whispered.

“All will be well,” she comforted. “It will be just for a few quintants until the worst has passed.”

A few quintants.

With Lotor.

On his ship.

Alone.

And completely at his mercy.

And just like before…

Lotor would hide his true colors.

And Lance could say nothing.

Lance felt his eyes sting with hot tears and he couldn’t even find comfort in the heat.

“Oh, Lance.” Allura’s hand brushed away one of the tears that had squeezed out from beneath closed eyelids. “All will be well,” she repeated.

Lance wished he could believe her.

Allura had to step out a few minutes later, telling him she would be back but needed to take the council’s call and delay the meeting for another varga until Lotor arrived, and pressed upon him a water pouch with orders to drink it.

Lance had shoved it away once she left, the pouch cool to the touch and  _ freezing  _ to his fever-addled mind.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t want this.

_ Dios  _ he didn’t want this.

Even with his eyes closed he could see Lotor’s gleaming purple surrounded by yellow, inches from his own and long hair brushing his face before lips had pressed a searing kiss to his cheek.

He heart beat wildly in remembered fear, of being pinned down and unable to move and Lotor caressing his hand, his face, his stomach, all while smiling and telling him this was a compliment.

And that had been when he was aboard the castle, in full health and had his friends down the hall (and in some instances right there in the obstacle course and Lotor had still…)

Now…

Now he didn’t want to know what Lotor was going to do and he was pretty much helpless to defend himself. His limbs were so  _ heavy  _ and moving at all just reignited the cold ache pounding away.

The sound of the medical bay doors whooshed open and with it came Allura’s voice. “--so quickly.”

“It is only due to your wormhole I was able to do so. You are remarkable, Allura.”

Lance froze, missing Allura’s response as his pulse pounded in his ears.

What?

Lotor was here  _ now?  _ He’d said an hour. It hadn’t been more than twenty dobashes, Lance was certain.

The footsteps were growing louder and he was torn between whimpering and curling up even tighter or trying to muster up some sort of courage and glare at Lotor in warning.

A hand descended on his arm and he startled instead.

Allura.

It was just Allura.

“Goodness,” Lotor’s tones came from further back. “He looks  _ awful.” _

“Lance,” Allura murmured. “Lotor is here.”

Lance shuddered.

He knew.

“You did not drink your water,” she observed, and her hand moved to brush his cheek again. “Oh, Lance. You must stay hydrated.”

He rocked his head against the flat pillow.

He would throw it up if he drank it.

Especially now.

“‘Llura,” he tried one last time, forcing open tired eyes and meeting her jewel tones behind her visor. “ _ Please.  _ I don’t…” he swallowed thickly. “Don’t...” His fingers shifted, the movement harder than it should be, and he tried to grasp at her armored wrist, feeling his cheeks darken even further with his pleas but he couldn’t go with Lotor, he  _ couldn’t. _ . “Pl-please. Allura,  _ please. _ Please don’t…”

“I must go,” she said softly. “I am sorry, Lance. But we shall check in with you and Lotor as much as we can, all right?”

It was not all right.

It wasn’t all right at--

Another pair of hands, larger, alighted on his shoulder.

Lotor.

Lance knew his touch anywhere; hellfire and dread.

“No,” he whispered, trying to slide his shoulder out from beneath Lotor’s hands. “Don’t… don’t touch m-me.”

“Lance,” Allura’s voice held a note of warning. “Lotor is our ally and friend. He is here to assist you.”

No he wasn’t.

He couldn’t say it though.

The hands moved down his back and the next second Lance found himself pulled to sitting and to his shame he’d have toppled right back over had Lotor’s hands not tightened on his shoulders.

“No,” he choked out past the acid taste of bile, trying to pull away anyway.

Lotor’s hands  _ burned. _

“I do not think he is capable of walking right now,” Allura said, voice sounding as though from far away as the room swam in front of him, whites and purples and hints of pink. “I can carry him to your ship--”

“There is no need for you to do that, Allura. Allow me.”

The next moment Lance found himself being lifted, Lotor’s hands shifting to wrap about his back and the other slipping beneath his legs. He vainly tried to kick out, to  _ stop  _ this, but his leg barely twitched and Lotor’s grip only tightened, fingertips pressing harshly into his flesh.

He moaned, flinching at the pain, but he knew it would be mistaken for the sickness.

He cast desperate eyes towards Allura, his head resting uncomfortably on Lotor’s chest plate, but she was looking at Lotor with a tender smile that made Lance’s heart ache and at the same time his stomach coil.

The idea of throwing up on Lotor didn’t even hold any appeal.

“I shall walk you to your ship,” Allura offered and without further ado Lotor stepped towards the door.

Lance tried to shift again, to say something, but Lotor’s fingers once more tightened, bruisingly, and he whimpered instead. His eyes slipped closed without consent as the hallway blurred at the pace and the nausea came back full force.

Their footsteps echoed in a hangar far too quickly a minute later.

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

“I am afraid this is where we must part,” Lotor said, voice like silk. “It was a pleasure to see you, Allura, despite the circumstances.”

“You as well, Lotor.”

Lance could feel a whisper of air as Allura’s hand landed on Lotor’s arm.

He tried to push back tears.

How could she not  _ see? _

The answer was bitter.

Because  _ he  _ didn’t want her to. Because he’d kept what had happened to himself.

And now…

The hand landed then on his shoulder just above his heart. “Lance,” she spoke softly and Lance opened his eyes, trying to convey  _ something  _ that he didn’t even know to her.

She gave him a sad smile. “I will see you soon. Rest and heal now. All will be well.” She gave his shoulder a pat and then stepped back. “We will be in touch?” she inquired to Lotor.

“Of course. But do not let me keep you or the council any longer; I can see myself out.”

“Thank you again, Lotor. We are in your debt.”

“No payment necessary, Allura. It is truly my pleasure to assist you and Lance in your time of need.”

His fingers curled against Lance’s back and he shuddered.

“Ah-Allura,” Lance pleaded, one last time.

Please.

Stop this.

“Feel better,” she smiled at him.

And just like that she turned on her heel and walked from the hangar.

Her footsteps sounded like a death sentence.

“Well, well,” Lotor sounded, heading up the ramp to his own ship. “It looks like it’s just the two of us now,  _ Lance _ .”

Lotor looked down at him, dark amusement playing over his face. “And like I promised the lovely princess…” he smiled unkindly. “I will take  _ very  _ good care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a commission follow up (15k) for   
> EmiTheStrangeXX0 to _Trust In Me_ and unfortunately for Lance things don’t seem to be getting better. I’m going to preface this now: this story ends similarly in style/ ambiguous ending to its prequel so if you were looking for a happy resolution for Lance… shelve that expectation now. I only warn here as _Trust In Me_ had quite the unhappy campers, but that is what the original commissioner wanted and this is the ending this commissioner wanted.
> 
> I love a good sick!fic and this is a deliciously dark twist that I’m truly enjoying just as much as the typical comfort. Poor Lance. He’s miserable with the flu and now has me and Lotor gunning for him. Whoops.
> 
> If you’re enjoying the fic please do drop a comment! I’d love to hear from you! ♥ Fic will update weekly-ish on Mondays but due to holidays and season eight it may waffle a bit.


	2. Two

 

Lotor carried him into the hold of his small cruiser and, to Lance’s great surprise, there was a cot folded out from the wall and prepped with a small pillow.

Lotor was actually going to…?

Lotor lowered him to it, almost gently, and Lance shuddered in both relief and cold as Lotor’s arms pulled away from him then and turned his face partly into the pillow.

A hand brushed against his cheek. “Oh, you poor boy. You truly are sick, aren’t you?”

Lance hated that in that moment he could only hear actual sincerity and concern.

What was Lotor up to?

The fingers shifted upwards to his forehead and smoothed back sweat-soaked bangs. Lotor clucked his tongue. “You are rather filthy, Lance. We’ll have to get you cleaned up once we land, hm?”

And just like that the switch was flipped again.

“No,” Lance whispered, trying to jerk his head away although Lotor’s fingers followed.

“But you will be much more comfortable.”

“Don’t touch me,” it came out less a demand and more a plea and Lance winced.

“Mm, that may be a bit difficult seeing as,” Lotor’s fingers brushed through his hair again, “I will personally be making sure you are taken care of. I wish only the best for you.” Lotor bent down then, nose bumping against Lance’s cheek. “My favorite toy.”

Toy.

There it was.

Even knowing it was coming, that Lotor’s opinion had not changed one bit despite all the time that had passed, all that Lance had accomplished…

He flinched as Lotor chuckled.

“But let us make sure you arrive safely first. It wouldn’t do for you to be… _broken.”_

Lance didn’t want to know what Lotor meant by that but as he felt something _heavy_ descend across his chest his eyes, stubbornly closed so he didn’t have to see Lotor’s smirk, flew open.

Lotor was strapping him to the cot.

“N-no,” Lance protested, but the straps were tightening across his chest, pinning his arms to his sides, and another was going across his legs and holding already leaden legs down.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

No.

Not again.

Even worse than before.

“This is for your own safety,” Lotor said, patting his cheek. He moved away then towards the cockpit. “See you in thirty dobashes.”

And the door between the hold and cockpit slid closed with a hiss.

The engines thrummed a moment later.

Lance’s eyes slipped closed again and he pressed his face further into the pillow, already damp with sweat, and tried to muffle the low keen torn from his throat even though the sound would not be audible to Lotor right now.

_Dios._

This was happening.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

He should have said something. To Allura. To Hunk. _Anyone._

But he hadn’t. Because he couldn’t, not then when his hold was so tenuous to his role of Paladin, when he was still trying to prove himself. And now, after nearly a month, to say anything would be…

He wouldn’t say disbelieved, he didn’t think so, maybe, but…

But there had been no evidence. Shiro and Allura both were firmly on Lotor’s side, and in Allura’s case she actually liked… Lance swallowed at the thought. She _liked_ Lotor. He needed to say something to her, before she got hurt, before she became his next toy.

But his own shame stopped him.

He didn’t want her to realize how actually weak he was. How pathetic.

She’d never look at him the same way again.

Now though he wondered if his pride was worth it.

Because he didn’t know what Lotor was going to do and his skin was _crawling._

Lance tried futilely to shift on the cot but he was well and firmly stuck, his body uncooperative and the straps _tight._

What did he do?

His mantra from before had been no reaction and he’d seen how well that had gone over. Trying to feign indifference at this point was useless as Lotor _knew_ how uncomfortable and, he winced, _scared,_ his actions made Lance, and he _reveled_ in it.

There was nothing he could do.

He just…

Just had to distance himself from all of it as much as he could. It would be over soon.

If soon meant several days.

Lance moaned low in his throat again and pressed his face harder against the pillow.

A shiver shook his body and he moaned again.

_Dios_ he couldn’t do this.

He didn’t want to do this.

He didn't want to be Lotor’s toy, his amusement.

And yet he had no choice in the matter.

And somehow, the worst part?

He was supposed to be _grateful_ for Lotor’s help. Allura would expect him to be, to thank Lotor for his care, and she would be so _disappointed_ in him if he didn’t express proper gratitude.

He didn’t think he could.

He was supposed to thank Lotor for… for…

Lance tasted acid bile on the back of his tongue and he choked it down, knowing if he threw up here it’d be on his pillow as he couldn’t even lift his head to angle off the cot.

He shivered again, the movement _hurting,_ and he tried to curl his legs up, to find some measure of _warmth_ in the cold cargo hold but he couldn’t even do that.

Tears stung his eyes and Lance hid them in the pillow.

He wished it was all over.

He wanted to go _home._

xxx

Lance must have drifted off as he awoke to unwelcome hands wrapping about his shoulders and sliding under his legs and the world spinning nauseatingly when he went to open his eyes.

“There there,” Lotor soothed, and Lance felt his body shifted into the Galran’s arms, resting again on Lotor’s chestplate. “I’ve got you.”

That was not a comforting thought.

He was too tired though to put up any protest for all the good it would do and merely closed his eyes again as a breeze brushed against his sweat-soaked face as Lotor began a brisk pace though what was his base if the glimpse of purple light Lance had caught was any indication.

There was the faint sound of beeps and the whooshing of doors as they traversed hall after hall.

“Ah, here we are,” Lotor said a few minutes later and Lance forced himself to open his eyes.

He had not expected to actually find himself in a medical bay. It was a private one, just for a single patient, but the fact Lotor had brought him here and not…

Lance didn’t even know where that thought was going and he cut it off before he threw up.

“Such surprise,” Lotor chuckled above him, heading for the bed. “I promised the beautiful Princess Allura I would care for you, did I not? And I absolutely shall, Lance.”

He lied him down with the same gentleness he had displayed in the ship and bustled off to the side of the room to open one of the cabinets. Lance somehow found the strength to pull his legs up, curling into a ball.

He was so _cold._

And as awful as Lotor’s touch was, as hard as his armor…

He had been _warm._

Lance felt disgusted by himself for even missing Lotor’s hold the slightest bit.

Lotor came back with something thrown over his arm and a familiar looking scanner in his hand. He pressed it to Lance’s forehead and a low beep echoed.

“Ah, up again from your records,” Lotor turned it so Lance could see. The numbers swam in front of his eyes not that he could make sense of the Galran script.

Lotor seemed to realize that and translated without prompting, “In your human terms, one hundred and two point one.” He clucked his tongue. “That’s not good, Lance. It’s important we cool you down.”

And saying so he placed the scanner and the other item on a tray next to the bed and reached for Lance.

He recoiled as the hand descended on the inner flap of his jacket.

“No,” he batted weakly at Lotor’s hands as they undid the zipper and frigid air hit his sweat-soaked shirt beneath. Lotor paid him no mind and pulled leaden arms through the sleeves and discarded the jacket off the side of the bed.

Lance whimpered and Lotor’s touch on his arms now, while hot, was not a good heat.

It was a cold fire and it _burned._

“First piece,” Lotor murmured, breath ghosting past Lance’s ear. “Let’s get you out of that nasty shirt now too, hm?”

Hands latched about the bottom of it and Lance brought his own down to grasp at Lotor’s wrists, shaking at the effort.

He knew without a doubt Lotor could remove him with a mere shake but the Galran only quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “It must come off,” Lotor told him.

Lance shook his head.

No it did not.

Even though he knew, realistically, lying in a sweat-plastered shirt that was cooling in the air even as his body heated it from underneath was not going to help him feel better or heal.

“Don’t touch me,” he tried to order but it came out a whisper.

Lotor withdrew his hands.

“Very well.”

Lance blinked.

Really?

“You do it then.” Lotor gestured at him. “Strip now. Or I will do it for you.” His fang peeked over his lip. “And I am more than happy to do so.”

Lance swallowed thickly...

And maneuvered his hands to the hem of his baseball tee.

Moving it though was a challenge and he wanted to cry at how _useless_ his own body was being, fingers fumbling and arms tiring before he’d even lifted it past his stomach. .

Lotor’s gaze, clearly amused, did not help and he blinked back hot tears as when trying to sit his arm wavered below his own weight and refused to lift him up.

No.

Come _on._

He had to do this.

His body refused to cooperate.

“That’s enough,” Lotor’s voice cut in. “You are only going to hurt yourself like this.”

Lotor’s hands, gloves gone, Lance dully noted, latched themselves under his arms and pulled him to a sit, remaining there as Lance tipped sideways.

His head felt so _heavy._

One of Lotor’s hands shifted to his back while the other bunched his shirt at the bottom and pulled it up, exposing his stomach and then his chest and then Lance lost sight of the room as it was pulled over his face.

He choked under  the sticky, damp shirt before Lotor pulled it free a tick later and it was pressed uncomfortably on the back of his neck. The Galran then turned his attentions one at a time to Lance’s arms, shimmying up the plastered sleeves and in under thirty ticks had removed Lance’s shirt.

He shivered and it increased as Lotor’s hand against his back drew a lazy circle before he was lied back down, head descending on a rather thick pillow.

Lance hadn’t relaxed in the slightest but his entire body went ramrod straight as he felt Lotor’s hands descend on the button to his jeans.

“No,” he whimpered.

His foot twitched.

Lotor chuckled and undid the button and then the zipper.

One hand braced itself then on Lance’s stomach, fire in the touch, and the other tugged at his waistband.

“L-Lotor, no,” Lance feebly tried another kick.

“It needs to come off,” Lotor said. “ _All_ of it.”

And Lance could do nothing as Lotor dragged his pants, just as damp as his shirt had been, over his hips, down his legs, and then over his socked feet, shoes removed previously by Allura and left behind in the castle’s infirmary.

He could almost hear Lotor’s nose wrinkle as he wriggled the socks off.

He didn’t stop there.

The hands were back on the swell of Lance’s hips, digging beneath the elastic waistband of his shorts.

Lance bucked frantically, desperately, because _no no no no no,_ but he couldn’t stop it, Lotor’s grip too strong and his own efforts too weak.

Lotor’s amused laugh and whispered, “hold still now,” only made it worse.

He could feel his face flame as Lotor pulled them down over his thighs, knuckles brushing against flesh, and Lance choked on a sob as he was exposed.

No.

This wasn’t…

_Dios._

But Lotor made quick work of pulling them down and up and over his ankles, letting them drop to the ground as he had all of the other clothing.

And although Lance’s eyes were squeezed closed, doing nothing to stop hot tears of shame, he sensed Lotor walk away.

Using all the energy he had left Lance curled onto his side, tucking his knees up to his chest even though he knew Lotor could easily move him back.

Was Lotor going to…?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know what Lotor wanted.

Soft footfalls approached and Lance curled up tighter.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

And something _cold_ and _wet_ hit his cheek and Lance let out a startled gasp, eyes flying open.

Primal purple and yellow gazed back at him a washcloth in hand. Lotor leaned forward again and the washrag rubbed a circle on his cheek, angling higher to his forehead and Lotor deftly turned Lance’s head to get to the other cheek pressed against the pillow.

Lance shivered, the heat fading from his cheeks in the face of the cold, but his stomach was still a mess of dread.

“Doesn’t that feel better?” Lotor asked, trailing the washcloth from Lance’s cheek and down his neck, coarse cloth sending goosebumped flesh tingling.

Lance rolled his head on the pillow, denying it.

It was _cold._

He shivered again.

He was so cold.

He hurt.

He wanted Lotor to stop.

But Lotor was pressing on Lance’s raised shoulder, easily pushing him so his back was flush again on the bed and brought the cloth over his chest, squeezed out some of the water on his stomach and then made languid strokes up and down.

“L-Lotor,” Lance stuttered as a too hot hand splayed itself over his stomach, prodding at his navel.

“What a strange thing,” Lotor said, sounding genuinely intrigued. “What _is_ this?” He poked a finger against it, pushing into the indentation, and Lance jerked, surprised more than scared but mortified as Lotor did it again.

“Stop,” he pleaded, voice cracking.

“What is it?” Lotor repeated his question.

Lance was reminded of how interested Lotor had been in the varieties of humans and his mind flashed to the sensation of a tongue licking his palm.

He shuddered.

“A navel,” Lance managed. “A belly b-button.”

“A navel belly button,” Lotor repeated. “And all humans have these?”

Lance let out a breathless yes.

“Fascinating.”

Lotor turned his attention back to the washcloth then, gently rubbing away dried sweat all about Lance’s torso and neck and then rubbing down his arms.

He didn’t go any lower.

Lance hated that he was grateful.

A towel, soft and fluffy and _warm,_ entered his vision then and Lotor patted him dry.

“There, much better,” he smiled, fang peeking over his lip. “Let’s get you dressed now.”

Lance was manhandled to a sit, Lotor’s hands horrifyingly warm on his frigid skin and Lance leaned into them before his brain caught up.

Lotor only laughed lightly.

“I think this will be for the best,” Lotor said, reaching over to the tray and picking up the item he had deposited earlier.

A hospital gown.

“No,” Lance protested even as Lotor was draping it over his front and picking up his arms to feed them through the sleeves.

He was still so exposed.

And _cold._

He couldn’t fight back though as Lotor tied the strings behind his neck and then, settling himself on the bed next to Lance to prop up him with his knee, tying the second set just above his tailbone.

Lotor’s hands were going to the patch of bare skin on his back then and hooking below his knees and Lance was being lifted from the bed and then tilted to standing on the floor.

His legs shook below him and he’d have fallen if Lotor’s hold hadn’t been so secure.  The dark purple hospital gown fell down with the gravity, brushing just above his knees, and Lance let out a hitched breath as he was finally covered again, as flimsy as it was.

“There, all done,” Lotor said, and he picked Lance up once more and deposited him back onto the bed.

“And now,” he smirked down at Lance. “What to do next?”

Lance could only shiver.

Lotor’s lips pulled into a frown.

He crossed back to the cabinets and opened the topmost one and retrieved a…

A blanket.

A sheet, really, but still.

Lance almost started crying out of sheer relief.

“Ah ah, not so fast,” Lotor cautioned as he came with it but picked up the scanner again. It was pressed firmly against Lance’s forehead.

“Same as before,” Lotor murmured as though to himself. He fixed his gaze on Lance. “I will provide you this blanket--”

Lance felt his earlier relief shriveling. There was a but.

A requirement.

What did Lotor _want?_

What would he give?

“--but if your temperature rises again I will have to take it back.”

Lance blinked.

That was the ultimatum?

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t Lotor.

What part of the game was this? What new rule?

But Lance didn’t offer any protest as Lotor flipped the thin sheet out and settled it from mid-chest to cover his bare legs and toes. It was hardly warm, not enough to combat the cold settling deep inside him, but it was something.

Something _kind._

Lance felt thrown for a loop.

“Hydration,” Lotor nodded as he looked down at him. “Do you feel capable of drinking water or do you require a vein valve?”

Lotor was giving him a choice?

Had he somehow ended up in an alternate reality when he’d blinked?

“Drink,” he whispered after a pause.

“Please,” Lotor prompted and there was amusement curling his lips again.

“Please,” he echoed.

He didn’t quite feel like it was the plea of previous.

“Good boy.”

And just like that Lance felt his cheeks heat again as Lotor patted the top of his head like he was a pet.

A pet. A toy.

Did Lotor even consider him a human?

His stomach rolled from both nausea and dread and confusion at Lotor’s actions. At how easily he seemed to flip between playing a game and a modicum of actual concern.

Lance knew which one was real.

It still didn’t make his confusion any less.

Lotor grabbed a glass from the top of the cabinets and then strode through a door at the back of the room. Lance heard the tap of a sink start and a minute Lotor came back with the glass of water.

Lance knew already his hands were not going to be able to hold it.

Lotor was pressing on a remote and Lance startled as the bed behind him began to incline, propping him to a sit and the blanket falling down to pool in his lap. He whined at the return of the cooler air of the infirmary.

“There there,” Lotor brushed a hand against his bare arm, the gown only coming down to his bicep. “You can have it back in a moment. But first, drink.”

The cold lip of the glass was pressed to his lips, pushing Lance’s head back into the mattress.

“Drink,” Lotor repeated, eyes narrowing as Lance kept his mouth closed.

Lance tentatively parted his lips, half-expecting to start choking as Lotor forced the contents down his throat.

But there was only a trickle and he painfully swallowed it, his throat feeling thick and gummy, and the water _freezing_ and tasting like icy fire.

He knew he needed to drink it though.

Lance managed two more before he shook his head against the glass.

His stomach hurt.

“All of it, Lance,” Lotor pressed the glass somewhat painfully against his mouth, digging into his chin.

“I ca--”

Lotor cut off his protest with another tip of the cup and pinched Lance’s lips closed when he went to cough it out.

He had no choice but to swallow.

There was still half the glass to go.

“You chose this,” Lotor told him as he forced Lance to take another sip.

This was not what Lance had meant.

Lotor held his mouth closed as he choked the water down.

Lance felt it burning inside his nose.

“No m-more,” he coughed once it was clear.

His hands twitched limply at his sides, too heavy, too hurt to move and push Lotor and the water glass away.

“You must remain hydrated,” Lotor countered. “Drink.”

“It’s c-cold.”

Lotor pulled the glass away then, giving it a look and then his gaze drifted back to Lance’s face, dropping to his lips. A purple finger lifted then, pressing on the corners of Lance’s mouth, brushing away the drips of water that had congealed.

Lance shuddered and closed his eyes.

“You are correct,” Lotor’s tone was smooth and soft. “And your body needs cooled down. But,” his tone dropped lower, almost gentle. “It is causing you physical pain.”

It was phrased as both a statement and a question and Lance had no idea where Lotor was going with this.

He gave a short nod, feeling tears stinging his eyes for reasons he couldn’t fully explain.

Lotor abruptly straightened and strode back into the bathroom.

Lance prayed he wasn’t about to get a brand new glass he had to choke down.

But when Lotor returned it was still with a half-glass and he pressed it without ceremony to Lance’s lips.

“Now drink.”

The water was lukewarm, still cold to Lance, but nothing like before.

He managed to drain the glass in a few more sips.

“Good boy,” Lotor murmured, hand brushing on Lance’s cheek and then up to card through his bangs.

He was too tired to pull away.

Lotor hummed.

“Rest for you now,” Lotor said after a moment, hand still gently shifting through Lance’s hair. The bed behind Lance began to lower and he found himself flat on his back a few ticks later. Lotor’s hand shifted from the top of his head to behind it, straightening the pillow that had dropped somewhat from the incline, and then turning his attention to the sheet to pull it back up to Lance’s chest.

“There,” he smiled, smoothing it down over Lance’s arms and the friction generated heat making Lance shiver. “Just one more thing.”

Lotor’s hand was back in his bangs, smoothing them back, before something _cold_ was laid across his forehead.

Lance’s eyes, drooping with sleep, flew open.

“You must keep that on,” Lotor told him. “I or my head physician will be by to make certain it stays and to replace it as necessary. Do you understand?”

Lance was stuck on the head physician part.

Lotor was actually bringing in medical personnel?

“Lance,” Lotor squeezed his arm. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Good boy. Then,” Lotor bent down, his breath ghosting over Lance’s ear before a pair of lips pressed on his cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

Lance recoiled from it but Lotor was already walking away, his laughter floating behind him.

Lance somehow slept.

They were not sweet dreams.

They were of hellfire and touches and the sensation of teetering on the edge of a cliff and a purple hand debating whether or not to push him off or pull him back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lotor, you do care… don’t you? Heheh. How horribly confusing this situation is. Such fun to write though :D
> 
> If you enjoyed the chapter/fic please do leave a comment! I’m not sure if the author’s notes last chapter scared y’all off but I was a little surprised given the hit count all those of you who stuck around. I am debating a third part to this series to wrap it all up on my own, but it does depend on the response to the fic as a whole if I’ll pursue it. So if you are liking it, please drop a comment below. I’d love to hear from you ♥


	3. Three

Lance awoke to the sensation of someone petting his hair.

He turned his head into it nuzzling against the arm resting by his head and soaking up the _warmth_ of it as the rest of him felt like a block of ice.

The hand stopped and he whimpered at the loss.

“You like that, don’t you?”

It look Lance a moment, a frown pulling at his features to place the voice.

And when he did it was suddenly no longer a gentle warmth.

Lotor.

 _Dios,_ it was Lotor.

How could he have forgotten?

He pulled away, the action harder than it should be, and an _ache_ pounded in his head that had him groaning.

“Easy, easy,” Lotor murmured above him, his hand moving with Lance’s head although it came down to rest on his cheek, thumb moving in a circle.

“Don’t t-touch me,” Lance chattered out.

 _Dios_ he was freezing.

“I just can’t help myself,” came Lotor’s answer. “Even now your skin is so _soft.”_

Lance pried open sleep-crusted eyes to find Lotor’s face hovering just above his. Fanged teeth pulled into a smile that widened as Lance flinched when their gazes met.

Lotor looked so _amused._

“You have been asleep for nearly five varga,” Lotor told him, tone still low. “The princess called to check on you and,” he smiled, “thank me once more for my hospitality and care. You are feeling cared for, right Lance?”

Lance honestly didn’t know the answer to that question.

What he felt was sick.

And tired.

And everything hurt more than before, chest feeling like a weight was on it and a dull pounding starting to build behind his eyes.

And to his horror he felt the acid taste of bile tickling at the back of his throat.

He must have made some face as Lotor was lifting him with dizzying speed from his flat position and into a sit, a large bowl in his lap atop the sheet within a second.

Lance emptied what little remained in his stomach, coughing and gagging and feeling tears pricking at his eyes from both pain and embarrassment.

The last one only worsened as one of Lotor’s hands descended on the bare patch of his back and rubbed it almost tenderly.

He’d just thrown up.

In front of Lotor.

Even knowing it was because of his sickness didn’t make him feel any better. Lotor’s touch, comforting and prickling at the same time, was not helping.

Lance didn’t know what to make of it.

His stomach churned again and he hunched back over the bowl.

All he managed was a string of ropy bile and then dry heaves.

“Done?” Lotor asked after a moment.

Lance gave a weak nod.

He didn’t think he had anything left in him.

Lotor kept one arm wrapped about his back and Lance could hear the faint whir of a motor as the bed was brought up. Only then did Lotor release him and the bowl was removed from his lap.

He heard the sound of the sink running and a few moments later Lotor returned.

“Lance,” his name was called and he opened his eyes -- when had he closed them? -- and saw a glass of water in front of his face along with the now cleaned bowl. “Rinse,” Lotor instructed and Lance had no choice but to take a sip as it was tipped against slack lips.

He nearly choked on it as it took far too much effort to swirl it in his mouth before he was able to spit it back out.

He noted it was lukewarm again.

“Good boy,” Lotor pet his hair. “Now, drink the rest.”

Lance lifted exhausted ocean eyes to Lotor’s.

He couldn’t be serious.

There was no joke though on Lotor’s face as he met it.

“Drink.”

“I c-can’t,” Lance admitted, feeling his cheeks darken beyond the flush of fever.

He didn’t want to throw up again.

“You will either drink or I will get the vein valve. Your choice.”

Lance shook his head against the mattress.

“Vein valve it is.”

Lotor got up with a slight screech -- he’d brought a chair over to the bed, Lance realized, and the thought made his stomach curl even more as had Lotor been watching him sleep? _Again? --_ and walked to the main door of the room.

Lance realized Lotor had changed. He was no longer in his armor but a form-fitting black long-sleeved top with red and purple accents around the collar and pants to match.

He didn’t know what to make of it. Lance shivered in his barely there hospital gown with the blanket pooled back in his lap, feeling extremely under-dressed.

Lotor called something inaudible to Lance but a moment later was stepping aside as a no-nonsense looking Galran in a dark purple smock with some type of fancy looking insignia on the lapel entered.

Lance bet that was the head physician.

His right hand was grabbed roughly by the doctor with a mutter, and Lance flinched at the harsh grip, claws digging in.

He tried not to cry out as the hold tightened while the doctor picked up what looked like a capsule from the bedside tray.

“Can’t even drink water,” the Galran muttered, “and this is what they consider a Paladin?”

Lance’s face darkened even more.

“Now, now,” Lotor’s voice was smooth. “Our patient is not feeling well, doctor. Be kind.”

Lotor was defending him?

“You should not be wasting your time with this, my lord. I can take over--”

“I assure you, it is no waste of my time,” and Lotor’s voice was slightly harder. “Lance here is very dear to me, you see.” Lotor’s eyes looked into Lance’s over the doctor’s head, something primal in the stare. “There is nowhere I would rather be.”

Lance shivered.

It morphed into a short cry as something _stabbed_ into the back of his hand.

“If my lord changes his mind,” the doctor placed a piece of tape down over the port just shot into Lance’s hand and then hooked it up to a long cord, “I am always ready to be of service. Even for,” a harsh pupil-less yellow gaze turned on Lance, “someone like him.”

“Thank you, doctor. That will be all.”

Once the doctor exited the room with a huff Lotor turned an almost apologetic gaze to Lance. “I do apologize for her behavior. She is still getting acclimated to the idea of non-Galrans about the base. But,” Lotor’s lips turned up. “It just means the two of us get to spend more time together.”

Lance didn’t know which one he honestly preferred.

The harsh bedside manner or Lotor’s attentions that switched between apparent sincerity and worry to something darker and cruel amusement.

“Now,” Lotor went over to a low cabinet, a puff of cool air emitting as he opened it, and pulled out a clear bag full of fluids. “Let’s get this hooked up.”

The port, from what Lance could observe, was firmly embedded in his hand and the cord was removable and could be attached to likely any type of bag. It didn’t hurt per se but it was uncomfortable, a foreign ache when his fingers twitched.

Once Lotor had situated the fluid bag he picked up the scanner and pressed it to Lance’s head. A frown crossed his features at the readout.

“You have gone up point two degrees,” he informed Lance. “One hundred and two point four.”

Lance’s left hand tightened as much as it could on the edge of the sheet, the motion sending a tremble up his entire arm.

Lotor saw it and let out a soft laugh. “You may keep it still. But now you must do something for me.”

Lance’s stomach flopped over unpleasantly.

“Eat.”

And once more Lotor surprised him.

But Lance gave a weak shake of his head. Had Lotor not just witnessed him throw up? He couldn’t keep anything down and whatever they put into him would suffer the same fate.

“It was not a request,” Lotor said. “And if you expel it again so be it. But your body needs the sustenance and whatever it can absorb in the meantime.”

Lance hated that that made sense.

His stomach still rolled.

What did Galrans feed sick people? Hunk he knew, would have a giant pot of chicken noodle soup and his mamá would make her cinnamon oatmeal and stroke his hair while he ate and--

He broke the thought off, alarmed to feel a sob forming in his throat as homesickness sent a harsh _pang_ through his chest.

“What is this?” Lotor brushed a finger beneath Lance’s eye and he jerked his head back. “Tears?” Lotor rubbed them away. “Why do you cry, Lance?”

Lance shook his head again.

Lotor let out a soft sigh and stood heading back for the cooler.

Lance didn’t know why he felt a twinge of guilt.

He returned with a familiar looking plastic wrapped package of green food goo.

Bland, tasteless food goo.

Nothing like soup.

“It has all the nutrients your body needs,” Lotor said as Lance made the barest face of disgust. “And there is no sense in wasting food if you do plan to vomit again.”

Lotor emptied the packet into a bowl and placed a spoon in it.

Lance realized the issue within a moment.

Just like with the glass of water he had no strength to hold a spoon.

Lotor’s eyes _danced_ with amusement and his lip curled up. “Now open up,” he lifted up the utensil.

Lance knew it was petulant but he turned his face away.

His stomach was still upset and the pounding in his head was getting worse, exacerbated with every shiver that hit him every minute or so.

“Ah ah, none of that,” Lotor bumped the spoon against the corner of Lance’s mouth. “Besides… if I happen to spill this you’ll need another bath. And while I know how much you _loved_ the first one--”

Lance jerked his head around so hard he nearly gave himself whiplash and the spoon struck painfully against his chin.

No.

Not that again.

That had been _humiliating._

“Pity,” Lotor sighed. “It would have been fun.” The spoon poked against his mouth and Lance dutifully opened it, feeling his cheeks darken as Lotor smiled at him, something both amused and proud.

“Your tongue is so pink,” Lotor observed as he pulled the spoon away a few bites later. “And small. The way it laps at the spoon… fascinating.”

Lance wasn’t sure if he could become any more red but he gave it a go.

Lotor chuckled and patted one of his dark cheeks.

“You are precious, Lance. Something… _special.”_

 _“Truly… you are something special."_ The memory came hard and fast with Lotor’s words, Lance feeling the press of Lotor’s chest on his back, hands caressing his stomach and fangs nipping at his ear.

He choked on the bite of food goo he’d just managed to swallow.

Lotor’s hand came to rub at his bare back making little sympathetic sounds.

“Why?” the question came out a breath and Lotor’s hands stilled.

“Why?” he repeated. “Oh, Lance,” he chuckled then and leaned forward, lips pressed directly over Lance’s ear. “Because it’s fun,” he whispered.

Lance shivered.

“And you,” Lance jerked as he felt something wet strike his earlobe -- Lotor’s tongue, he realized faintly -- “are my favorite toy to play with.”

Lance had nothing to say to that and only turned his face back into the pillow and away from Lotor.

His hands trembled uselessly at his sides and his breath was hitching oddly and painfully in his chest.

He wanted to cry.

He couldn’t cry.

He wanted to go home.

He couldn’t.

Not yet.

“Get some rest,” Lotor murmured, lowering the bed.

A kiss was pressed against his forehead then, the heat searing before it was replaced with another cold washcloth that turned the shudder into a shiver and a low moan.

“I shall be here when you awaken.”

The words were not a comfort.

xxx

His chest hurt, more than before.

Lance couldn’t help the low groan that turned into a cough and then a full body shudder as the _pain_ pressed down.

It felt like someone was trying to crush his heart.

Also…

His bladder.

The sudden urge to pee overrode the other pain for a moment and Lance let out a moan, curling on his side.

“Waking up?” Lotor’s tones cut into the haze of pain and confusion as he tried to figure out where he was.

That’s right.

Lotor.

Galra.

Oh _Dios._

“L-Lotor,” he whimpered, flush stealing over his cheeks.

“I do love hearing you say my name,” came a near purr and a hand alighted on his raised shoulder. “What can this humble emperor do for you?”

“I... I have to…”

He couldn’t say it.

“Ah,” Lotor sounded knowing and the hand stroked down his arm. “You are in need of the facilities, hm? Not surprising; you have gone through two whole fluid bags now.”

Two?

How long had he been asleep for?

“Four more hours,” Lotor informed him as though hearing the question. “It is nearing eighteen hundred varga. But let’s focus on _you.”_

The hand trailed down his arm and Lance shuddered.

“You have two options,” Lotor said, continuing his caress. “I can fetch you a bedpan,” Lance felt his face darken even more and Lotor chuckled, “or, if you feel capable, you may use the attached bathroom.”

“Bathroom,” Lance whispered.

He didn’t know how he was getting there.

His legs were leaden and trying to move them _hurt._

“It looks like you may be in need of some assistance. And I am _more_ than happy to do so.” Lotor sounded terribly amused and Lance pressed his face into the pillow as though he could hide away as he heard and felt Lotor disconnecting his hand from the cord of the vein valve.

“Let’s not delay,” Lotor said and the hand on his arm traveled to his back. “Otherwise you may need another bath sooner than planned upon. Then again…”

“Lotor,” Lance pleaded as Lotor removed his hand and settled back in his chair.

He could hear the Galran waiting for the second part.

“ _Please_.”

“Since you asked so nicely…”

The hands came back, flipping the sheet off first -- oh _Dios,_ it was _freezing_ \-- and then came to grab below his knees and the other went behind his shoulders. His touch was _hot_ and Lance was torn between recoiling and trying to press into it.

Based on Lotor’s laugh he was not successful on either front.

The room blurred as Lotor carried him across it and into the small bathroom, lowering Lance to his feet once they’d crossed the doorway although he kept one arm about Lance’s waist and the other around his shoulders.

Lance trembled like a newborn foal even as he took in the setup; a small shower wedged in the far corner (no curtain), a toilet and a sink with a mirror. His gaze got stuck on the mirror and the person looking back at him.

He looked _awful._ His cheeks were high spots of pink and despite the fact he’d been sleeping most of the day away there were shadows beneath his eyes. Where his skin wasn’t pink or shadowed it was a paler, waxy version of his normal tan and his bangs were damp with a mixture of sweat and condensation. He was _shaking_ in the image, literally looking like one breeze would knock him over and looking even more pathetic in the shapeless hospital gown.

“Not at your best, hm?” Lotor asked him and as Lance watched in the mirror Lotor bent his head down and nuzzled it against his neck, hot air breathed onto his skin. “But even so, you are a fun toy to play with indeed.”

Lance closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look.

His bladder gave an urgent twinge.

He shifted on his feet and Lotor seemed to take that as his cue and he let his arms drop.

Lance wavered.

Sheer will kept him standing.

He took a wobbling step towards the toilet and then another, jaw clenched and hands lifted at his sides for balance.

The room was already spinning.

“You look like you could use some help,” Lotor called out unhelpfully from the doorway.

“N-no.”

“It is nothing I have not already seen,” and although Lance could not see Lotor behind him he could picture the smirk.

Lance took a hard sit on top of the toilet, feeling sweat dripping down his neck from the effort.

Apparently the dressing gown was actually going to be useful.

He felt himself color at that and it grew darker as he raised his eyes up and Lotor was still lounging in the doorway and watching him like he was the entertainment.

He was though.

Just a toy.

“Out,” he managed.

“Hm. No.”

Lance didn’t think that would work. He hadn’t even been able to get Lotor out of his own bedroom, there was no way the Galran would do so in his own base.

He resigned himself to having an audience, skin prickling under the scrutiny.

When he was finished though he felt… not better, not really as he still felt _awful,_ but he did feel relieved.

He also discovered he had no strength left to walk. He managed to stand, clutching onto the counter, but the first step had his legs giving way beneath him and he tilted forward with a barely there gasp.

Arms caught him about his middle before he could hit the floor. “Now, now, let’s not add a concussion,” Lotor chided.

Lance shuddered as one of the hands lightly caressed his stomach above the gown before Lotor scooped him up and he was deposited back in the bed and reattached to the vein valve.

The scanner was pressed to his head next and Lotor clucked his tongue. “Up another point two. I do so hate to do this but… no more sheet for you.”

What?

No.

Lance tried futilely to grab onto the corner where it had bunched on the side of the bed but he’d expended all of the energy he had on his bathroom break and Lotor tugged it away without incident.

“L-Lotor,” Lance tried, too tired to even curl his legs up from where they were lying flat in front of him. “Please. I....” he swallowed thickly.

“I know,” and Lotor’s voice was that lower, gentler cadence. “But you cannot have it right now.”

Lance could feel tears trying to come back.

 _Dios_ he was so pathetic.

But he was so _cold._

He choked on his next breath as a cold cloth bathed the side of his face. He was tilted carefully then onto his side and there was the whisper of the ties on his gown being pulled free.

“N-no,” he protested.

No more.

Lotor had said…

His arms were being fed through the sleeves and Lotor rolled the front of the gown down, leaving the lower back tie in place and Lance covered from below the waist. The cold cloth came back, wiping at his skin.

Lance whimpered.

“This fever is persistent,” Lotor spoke in that same quiet tone. “Try and sleep some more if you can; your body is weak and needs the rest.”

And Lance was tired but more than that he was cold.

Even as Lotor finished the impromptu bath and pulled the gown back up after blotting him try Lance didn’t feel any warmer.

Lotor let out a soft sigh. “You look awful.”

Lance only pressed his cheek and nose into the pillow, trying to burrow in.

He knew he did.

He felt it more so.

Lotor’s hand trailed through his hair. “Sleep,” he commanded.

Somehow Lance did.

xxx

When he next awoke the lights in the room had been dimmed.

He also thought he was going to literally shiver out of his skin and his head was pulsing so badly he was seeing spots even with his eyes closed.

He let out a soft keen not even caring if Lotor heard it.

But there was no answering murmur or touch. Lance forced his head to turn in the direction of Lotor’s chair.

It was empty.

He blinked at it once. Twice.

Still no Lotor.

No one was there.

But the sheet was.

Folded on the counter across the room.

Warmth.

Lance’s hands twitched at his sides.

He wanted it.

Somehow, if he got that, it would be better.

He just had to get the sheet.

He tried to sit up.

The movement left him panting and his chest aching.

He didn’t know how he was going to get down from the bed.

Hot tears stung his eyes and he welcomed them.

 _Dios_ he was so _cold._

It _hurt._

He pushed his palms flush against the bed and tried again.

He couldn’t do it.

Tired ocean eyes drifted to the side and alighted upon the table tray above his head.

The remote for the bed was on it.

Lance spent the next several minutes awkwardly straining a trembling right hand, vein valve pulsing as he flexed his fingers in all sorts of ways, trying to grab it.

He was finally successful after nearly pulling something in his shoulder at the angle.

Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Shivering hurt. Even swallowing hurt, his throat both gummy and dry and he wished then for a glass of water too despite his earlier aversion.

He raised the bed into an incline.

Step one done.

He sat there for a minute, inhaling deeply as the position change had set his chest aching anew and his head was _pounding._

Next step.

He shimmied an inch at a time his legs over the edge of the bed, cold air biting and the gown riding up uncomfortably. Lance ignored it in favor of potential warmth.

When his legs were finally dangling over the edge, a pull to his knees as they hung like weights, he took a deep breath.

And then he slipped off the bed.

Lance was standing for all of a second before his legs collapsed below him and he hit the ground.

_Hard._

His knees made the first impact and his hands, thrown in front of him, the second, before his torso crashed down atop it all.

The pain barely processed in comparison to the sudden _pressure_ that raced through his chest and made his lungs seize.

Lance choked on his next breath and then the next.

More black spots danced in his vision.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t _breathe._

He let out a choked moan.

Was he going to die here?

No.

No.

_No._

He struggled to turn onto his side, to alleviate the weight on his chest, and he took a gasping inhale.

Then another.

Air.

But as that panic began to fade the coldness of the floor became more apparent, leeching what little heat he could feel away.

Lance shivered.

He couldn’t move.

The cold was creeping up, as surely as a blanket of frost, and he could do _nothing_ as his body continued to be a leaden weight and his hands twitched uselessly, his right one aching at the port still connected to the fluid bag hooked above the bed.

He let out a sob and then another, shoulders shaking.

He couldn’t stop.

He didn’t even hear the footsteps over the sound of his own misery, only realizing someone was there when a hand lighted on his raised shoulder.

It was _warm._

He cut off his next sob abruptly.

“Lance, Lance, Lance,” came Lotor’s somewhat exasperated tone. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Even as he spoke his hands were sliding to lift him up and Lance’s soft sobs started up again as _warmth_ pressed in on him from Lotor’s hands and arms and chest and to his shame and horror he couldn’t seem to stop.

“You are only making yourself more sick,” Lotor chided him as he carried Lance back to the bed. “And then you will have to stay in my care for even longer.”

If Lotor had been expecting a protest he did not get one.

Lance was too tired and cold and hurt to care.

Lotor went to lower him to the bed and Lance, to his own surprise, found himself trying to grasp onto Lotor’s shirt, and Lotor went abruptly still.

“C-cold,” Lance sniffled, pleaded, begged, pressing his face against Lotor’s chest and he couldn’t stop himself.

Lotor was _warm._

Lance didn’t care where the warmth came from at this point. He’d even take Lotor’s searing hands if it meant heat.

He was aware he was going to be embarrassed and regret this sudden bout of clinginess as soon as his head stopped hurting and the room stopped being fuzzy around the edges.

But that was later.

And this was now.

And now there was warmth.

“You have no idea what is happening right now, do you?” Lotor’s words sounded as though from far away, muddled.

Lance just whimpered.

And then he found himself being lowered to the bed and his weak grip easily disentangled.

No.

No.

He was _cold._

“Sleep,” came a soft murmur and a hand brushed against his cheek.

Lance fell asleep shivering to the gentle stroke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotor continues to give me all the spine-inducing tingles to both write and read. Just… what a fun, delightful, manipulative character to write. I can’t wait till it all comes to a head next chapter :D
> 
> Between season eight and my mini-vacation for my birthday I will not be able to post the last chapter on Monday. There are two options: if the response to this one is like holy cheeseballs amazing I will update the finale on Thursday. Otherwise I will update it on Wednesday, December 19 when I’m back and (hopefully) have managed to watch season eight by then.
> 
> As always, thank you so much to those of you who left lovely comments and please, if you enjoyed the chapter/fic leave a comment down below. I’d love to hear about which part/s struck you or what details you liked! ♥


	4. Four

There was yelling.

There was a lot of yelling.

Lance cringed at the onslaught.

His stomach turned. His head hurt. He let out a weak shiver that made it all worse.

“—for two varga and you allowed his fever to spike like this?”

“My lord, I did not realize that such a temperature was—”

“I told you! Over the converted one hundred and three to get me immediately. This is point six over that!”

Lance frowned. Lotor?

Why was Lotor here?

Why did Lotor sound… scared?

No. That couldn’t be right.

Was he dreaming?

This had to be a nightmare then.

“My lord—”

“Get out!”

The sound of a door whooshing open echoed in the sudden quiet before a set of flurried footsteps broke it and then something descended on his shoulder.

Hand, Lance placed.

“Lance,” the hand said and it gave him a shake. “Lance.”

Lance pried open his eyes.

The purple and white visage of Lotor stared back.

Lance blinked.

Not dreaming?

Why was Lotor…?

It all came rushing back in a nauseating blur.

Flu. Galra. Lotor. Game. Toy.

Cold.

So cold.

He could tell his body tried to shiver.

It barely moved.

Lotor’s hands were moving then, hellfire welcome against the cold and they pulled him to sitting.

The world spun around them and Lance groaned, sinking bonelessly against Lotor.

“Lance,” his name was said sharply. “Stay with me.”

A hand patted his cheek and he forced his eyes back open, whining in the back of his throat when it left and took the warmth with it.

He heard the sound of cords being undone then.

His hospital gown.

No.

Not that.

He could feel his cheeks darkening even around the press of confusion and exhaustion.

He weakly shifted in Lotor’s hold but Lotor was too strong and both ties were undone fully and Lance’s arms were yanked none too gently through the sleeves.

Within the moment he had been stripped bare and the chilled infirmary air had him gasping as it touched newly exposed flesh.

That paled though as Lotor bent over and scooped him into his arms.

No.

No no no.

Lance gave a feeble twitch, mortification heating him, as he realized he was being cradled naked in Lotor’s arms.

“N-no,” he managed to gasp. One of his hands that had been pillowed on his lap pressed weakly against Lotor’s chest. “No. Pl-please. N-no.”

What did Lotor want?

What was he going to do?

He didn’t want this.

He didn’t want to be a toy.

“Shh,” Lotor soothed. His voice lowered even further. “Shh.”

“No,” Lance whimpered.

“Lance,” Lotor’s tone was almost gentle. “It is no fun to play with broken toys.”

Those words should not have been comforting in the slightest but…

But they were.

Lance slumped in Lotor’s hold.

He still didn’t feel safe, would never feel safe with Lotor.

But…

But he didn’t think he was in danger.

Not from that.

Not now.

Lotor’s hand twitched from below his knees and then there was a strange sound. Lance couldn’t place it even though it sounded familiar.

Water, maybe?

But water didn’t echo like—

Lance gasped and his eyes flew open as _cold cold cold_ overtook him.

Cold and wet.

He was in the shower.

And it was _freezing._

“No,” he moaned, trying to push again at Lotor’s chest. “No. St-stop. C-cold.”

“I know,” came a soft murmur. “I know it is.”

Lance looked up to see Lotor looking down at him.

He was getting just as wet by the stream, long hair hanging slick about his face, which looked…

Looked scared. Concerned.

Lance blinked.

The image remained.

So did the water.

“Cold,” he repeated, voice small and raspy. “Pl-please. Stop.”

“I cannot.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Lance put out.

He didn’t know what he’d done to be punished but…

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, shaking. “Pl-please. I…”

“No,” Lotor’s voice turned harsher and Lance flinched.

“No,” he said again, softer. “It is I who am sorry for this. Do not apologize again.”

Lance blinked.

What?

But…

But wasn’t this… a punishment?

It _hurt._

Lotor was _hurting_ him.

“Your fever spiked dangerously,” Lotor told him.

Lance didn’t quite follow.

“Bear with this for just a little longer,” Lotor murmured. “I will take care of you, Lance. I swear it.”

Exhaustion pulled Lance’s eyes closed.

He fell asleep to frigid rain and hot hands.

xxx

He was freezing.

He wanted his mom.

Where was she?

“Mamá,” he moaned. “Mamá.”

A hand descended in his hair.

That wasn’t her.

It was too big.

He shuddered. “Mamá.”

“Shh,” murmured back the hand. “Shh. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay.

Where was Mamá?

xxx

The rain was back.

No.

No more.

He cried, tears mingling with the downpour.

“No,” he cried. “ _No_ _más._ ”

It was cold.

It hurt.

He couldn’t breathe.

“ _No_ _más. Lo siento. L-lo siento. Lo siento. Por favor. No_ _más._ ”

xxx

Someone was carding his hair.

It felt nice.

He was still cold.

“Mamá?” he whispered. “ _T-tengo frío_.”

She didn’t respond.

The hand carding his hair stilled.

He nudged it with his head.

It picked back up again.

He fell asleep to the gentle strokes.

xxx

His mouth tasted funny.

Lance licked his lips, frowning at how chapped they were, and swallowed.

His throat ached at that.

What was going on?

He went to open his eyes and shut them immediately as bright lights seared against his eyeballs.

Bright _purple_ lights.

What?

Galra?

More tentatively he raised his lashes and took in the room.

Some sort of infirmary?

He glanced to his right and his breath caught as Lotor looked right back at him.

It all came rushing back.

He felt his face flame.

“You are awake,” Lotor said, but there was no amused curl to his lips or amusement in his eyes. He sounded…

Lance wasn't sure.

“Yes?” he croaked out, wincing at both the sound and the pain it caused.

Lotor got up abruptly from the chair and headed towards the bathroom.

He returned a moment later with a glass of water.

Lance found that his hands refused to move from where they were pillowed on his lap.

A jolt of sharp fear went through him.

What?

What was going on?

Lotor was lifting his bed to an incline and the glass of water was pressed to his mouth without ceremony and no teasing words.

Lance took a tentative sip, waiting for the axe to fall.

The water was pleasantly cool, not cold, and he took a second one but shook his head at the next.

“What…” he coughed, trying to clear the rasp. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Lotor asked, voice still that neutral tone.

“Um…”

Was Lotor referring to all of the stuff from before? Or… or…

“A shower?” Lance finally put out.

He remembered that.

_“It is no fun to play with broken toys.”_

He remembered that too.

His cheeks re-heated.

“Your fever spiked to dangerous levels,” Lotor said, fixing him with a sharp look. “You have been in and out of consciousness for the past three quintants.”

What?

Three…

Days?

“Your fever finally broke this morning,” Lotor continued. “Your body is still incredibly weak and will be that way for a few quintants more, but you are out of danger and no longer displaying any symptoms.”

“You…” Lance swallowed, tongue feeling thick. “You… took care of me?”

Because he was recalling yelling now, Lotor had been _angry_ at the doctor.

Which meant that…

For three days…

Lotor had...

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

“I told you I would, did I not?”

He had.

Lance remembered that. Both the quiet, worried version in the shower and the darker, teasing ones that he had promised several times before.

He felt dizzy.

Which one was real?

“I also told you,” Lotor smiled and there was a quirk of amusement back in his tone. “That playing with a broken toy is not fun. But,” his smile widened. “You are not so broken now, are you?”

Lance felt something coil in his stomach and it turned over as Lotor reached a hand out and brushed it against his cheek.

But still…

“Thank you.”

The words were past his lips before he could think them over.

Lotor raised an eyebrow. “You are thanking me?”

“For… for taking care of—”

“Oh, Lance,” Lotor cut him off. “You think I did that for _you?”_

Lance swallowed, throat bobbing.

Hadn’t…

Hadn’t he?

“Please,” Lotor sneered. His hand, still resting along Lance’s cheek, tightened painfully and Lance bit back the cry. “You think I would waste my time and resources for _you?_ No.”

But…?

“I did this for one person and one person only,” Lotor said. His hand shifted to dig cruelly into Lance’s hair, twisting it. “Do you know how _grateful_ the princess is? How _enamored?_ I am her savior, Lance. Her prince. Her _emperor.”_

Lance’s breath caught.

Lotor…

Lotor despite everything...

Lotor liked Allura too.

“And you?” Lance’s head was yanked towards Lotor, his breath hot on Lance’s cheek. “You are a _pawn._ A tool. A _toy._ You serve no other purpose.”

“No,” Lance protested, trying to jerk his head away without success. “No. I’m…”

“A Paladin?” Lotor filled it in. “You? You truly still think that? What kind of _Paladin,”_ Lotor sneered on the word, “would allow this?”

As he spoke he pressed a searing kiss against Lance’s cheek while his hands tightened even more in his hair.

“N-no—”

“You say _nothing_ because you cannot say _anything,”_ Lotor continued. “Imagine what the princess would think. What _Shiro_ would. You thought to prove yourself worthy of the title? Of their pride? Hope? _No._ You failed. You will never measure up.”

Lance’s throat bobbed and he felt tears being dragged to his eyes from both the words and hair pulling.

He knew.

He knew that.

He—

“And so you are nothing,” Lotor’s breath ghosted against his ear, “except entertainment.”

Lotor released his hair and Lance nearly toppled over in the opposite direction. He didn’t though as hands were grasping his shoulders and Lotor was climbing on top of the bed, on top of _him,_ weight pinning down his legs and pressing his back into the inclined mattress.

Just like before.

No.

No.

“St-stop,” Lance whispered as Lotor leaned forward, long hair brushing against his exposed collarbone and neck.

He became aware he was still in the hospital gown and nothing else.

No.

His fingers twitched uselessly at his sides, his feet even more so.

He couldn’t move, his limbs unresponsive and heavy and still _aching_ with remnants of illness.

No.

Please no.

“Tell me,” Lotor hissed, his nose nearly bumping against Lance’s, “can you stop me? Can you do _anything?”_ A large purple hand wrapped about Lance’s neck and he wheezed as it tightened. “Can you stop me from killing you right here?” The grip constricted and Lance gagged. “Can you?”

Lance managed to bring his left hand up, a weak, trembling thing, but all it did was brush against Lotor’s.

Spots were dancing in his vision.

He knew Lotor wouldn’t kill him, but…

But…

_Dios._

He couldn’t _breathe._

He batted at Lotor’s hand again and Lotor laughed.

“No. No you cannot.”

And the hand released and Lance sucked in a noisy inhale, coughing.

Lotor’s hand went back to his neck within a few ticks, but unlike before it did not tighten. It instead went to the ties of the gown.

Lance’s heart stuttered.

No.

Not that.

“Can you stop me?” Lotor whispered, pulling the knot free and Lance felt the gown sag against his shoulders. Lotor’s other hand reached forward and grasped it by the wide collar and _yanked,_ dragging it down Lance’s arms until it got caught on his elbows but exposing his upper chest. “Can you?”

Lotor’s purple gaze was boring into Lance’s own.

“Can you stop me from doing _this?”_ he leaned forward and Lance had nowhere to go as a tongue flicked out and _lapped_ at the tears on his cheek. He tried to turn his head but Lotor gripped at his chin holding him still.

Lance let out a low sob.

He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see.

“Can you do anything, Lance?” Lotor murmured. “Tell me.”

Lance remained silent.

He…

He didn’t know what to say.

He felt sick.

Lotor’s thumb drew a circle against his jaw.

He could feel it burn.

What did he do?

What did he _do?_

Nothing.

The answer was sick and swift.

Because there was nothing he could do.

He couldn’t fight Lotor off.

He couldn’t tell Allura.

Not only because of the _shame_ that coiled deep inside at the thought but…

But would she even believe him?

Lotor had helped him, cared for him, put up a guise of concern and sincerity and he’d wormed his way even deeper into Allura’s good graces. She _trusted_ Lotor.

She…

She might even love him.

And anything Lance said now…

She wouldn’t hear.

He’d messed up.

He’d _really_ messed up.

“Do you recall,” Lotor said into the silence, “what I promised before?” A hot nose nuzzled against his cheek. “I would earn your trust. And,” a light laugh “and I did, did I not? You _believed_ in me, in my actions. Oh, Lance…”

Lotor’s mouth moved from Lance’s face to his ear.

“I win.”

Lance’s heart stuttered.

A game.

A _game._

This had been the same game as before.

He… he hadn’t even realized…

His stomach clenched with sick horror.

He’d played right into it.

He’d…

He’d never stopped playing it.

“Oh, your face. You look _horrified,_ Lance. I almost feel a little bad. But no. No I do not. I am touched though, truly, that you honestly thought I was being sincere.”

His hands went to Lance’s shoulders then, nails digging in lightly as he trailed them down his arms, shifting the gown off and over unresisting hands.

Lance trembled, choking on a sob.

What was…

What was Lotor going to do?

“Let’s play another game, Lance,” Lotor whispered. “It’ll be _fun.”_

“No,” Lance whimpered.

He opened his eyes, world blurry behind his tears, and Lotor’s gaze met his.

There was only cruel amusement looking back at him.

“I was thinking,” Lotor continued, “we’d continue with our current theme; doctor and patient. You make _such_ a good patient, Lance. So… weak,” his hand squeezed Lance’s arm, “so _dependent._ And I, as your doctor, should make sure you receive the utmost care and attention.”

Lance swallowed thickly. “L-Lo—”

“Look at you,” one of Lotor’s hands shifted from his arm to his back, pressing hard fingers into it. “So _tense._ All of that strain, it can’t be good for you. But,” his fingers kneaded painfully into the flesh, “I think a nice massage will help, hm?”

No.

No.

This couldn’t be…

A moment later the mattress was declining and Lance could do _nothing_ as Lotor loomed over him, his elbows braced alongside Lance’s head and his hair making a curtain that framed Lotor’s cruel smile.

“You truly are something special,” Lotor murmured, bending down and pressing another hellfire kiss to Lance’s cheek. “You will make this game something special too.”

The bed rocked then as Lotor pulled himself free, feet hitting the ground with soft taps.

Lance’s hands trembled and he tried to _move,_ to do _something,_ but all he managed was a weak rock and even that motion sent the deep-seated ache still in his chest pulsing.

“Now, now, don’t hurt yourself,” Lotor said. “Let’s not put all my hard work to fix you go to waste. When you’re broken you’re not fun to play with. Not like this.”

Lotor’s hands were on his shoulders and Lance was being forcibly rotated onto his stomach and his arms then bent to pillow beneath his head.

He couldn't summon up any strength to stop it as Lotor positioned him, propping his cheek so he was forced to look in Lotor’s direction.

Lotor chuckled. “Look at you. Like a doll for me to move as I want.” His lip curled. “You really are my favorite toy.”

Lotor’s hands descended on his bare back, a single finger tracing a line down his spine.

Lance shuddered at the touch.

Lotor did it again, harder.

HIs other moved to caress the gentle swell of Lance’s hip, just above the other tie to the hospital gown.

Lance’s face went from dark cheeks to pale as Lotor made to undo it.

“Please,” he whispered, _begged._ “Don’t…”

“Oh, but I do.”

A buzz echoed in the room.

Lance knew that sound.

A transmission.

“Well well,” Lotor murmured. “Would you look at that. It’s the beautiful Princess Allura.”

Lance was torn between relief and absolute shame.

“I wonder what she’ll make of this,” Lotor tapped a finger against his lips. “Should we let her see?”

Lotor…

Lotor wasn’t even _trying_ to hide what he was doing.

He knew he didn’t have to.

He accepted the transmission with a sharp smile.

“Lotor,” Allura’s voice sounded from the tablet, soft and sweet. “How are you? How is Lance?”

“I am doing quite well, Princess,” Lotor smiled. “Lance is too, all things considered. The poor boy though, he is in some pain from his ordeal. So _tense._ Here, why don’t you say hello?”

Lotor was turning the tablet in Lance’s direction and his heart leapt into his throat

_Dios._

“Lance,” Allura’s gaze was tender on the screen, softening more as she took in what she could see of him. Lance could tell from the mirror screen that it was him, lying on the bed with his hands pillowed ever so, top of half the gown undone, and looking for all the world like he was comfortable, save for the tear tracks on darkening cheeks. “Oh, Lance,” she repeated.

“‘Lllura,” he tried to choke out, breath catching.

What did she see?

“As you can see,” Lotor turned the tablet back to himself, “I am doing what I can to ease some of it. A massage can help restore—”

“Oh, yes,” Allura chimed in brightly. “What an excellent idea, Lotor.”

“Yes,” Lotor purred and his gaze lifted to meet Lance’s. “I thought so too.”

Lance knew his low sob wasn’t picked up on the transmission.

“I have the Yellow Paladin en route as we speak to retrieve Lance,” Allura said.

Lance’s heart thumped wildly.

Hunk.

Hunk was coming.

“He should be there within the next thirty dobashes,” Allura continued.

“We shall look forward to his arrival,” Lotor said smoothly.

“I know I have said this many times but truly Lotor, thank you. I am so grateful for your help and your kindness. I know you said there were some complications with the medical staff and so you had to take on the majority of Lance’s care and… and I truly appreciate it with all my heart. Thank you.”

Lance’s eyes burned at the sheer _love_ coming through in Allura’s tone.

“And I have told you many times, it was my absolute pleasure and honor to be of assistance to you. We shall speak again soon?”

“Yes, I would very much like that. Until then, Lotor.”

Lotor put the tablet aside, sharp grin returning.

Lance felt absolutely sick.

Allura had fallen for it.

She hadn’t even _suspected_ that something was wrong, Lotor’s words and explanations pushing away any doubts before they could even surface.

And he…

He couldn’t tell her.

He never could.

And she would never believe him.

“I do hate to cut our game short,” Lotor sighed, “but playtime is over. I have no doubt though that we’ll arrange another one soon. For now though we must get you ready for your journey.”

And saying so he reached over and pulled the remaining tie on the gown.

“I can’t very well send you off in that,” Lotor said, pulling it away and baring covered flesh. Lance’s foot twitched as heat burned his cheeks, growing worse as Lotor slid a hand below his chest and lifted him up, removing the gown completely from him and rotated him so he was fully exposed to the room.

“And,” Lotor chuckled, “I cannot send you off in nothing either, can I?”

He lied Lance down on the bed, cool infirmary air playing over bare flesh and smiled at him. “Wait there for just a few dobashes.”

Lance hated that was all he could do, his body still sluggish and weak.

He bit his lip to keep the sob locked inside.

Lotor returned carrying a bag that he dumped out by Lance’s head.

His breath caught.

His clothes.

“All freshly laundered,” Lotor said, selecting his baseball tee and boxer shorts from the pile. “Nice and clean. Just like you. Well, except for this,” he brushed knuckles against Lance’s tear-stained face. “That simply won’t do.”

He left again, the sound of the tap going off in the bathroom, and returned with a familiar washcloth that he rubbed against Lance’s cheek.

Lance closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.

Lotor dressed him slowly, fingers brushing against his thighs, his hips, skimming again over his navel, but he didn’t touch anything further.

Lance’s cheeks were still a mixture of dark and pale and Lotor’s little chuckles as Lance flinched with each touch made him feel worse.

His shirt was pulled on with slightly less ceremony, arms fed through the sleeves, and then pillowed on his stomach. Lotor was just repacking the bag of the other clothes when voices sounded from outside the room.

Lance’s lips trembled.

Hunk.

“—right in here? Got it, thanks helpful Galran soldier.”

And then Hunk was _there,_ striding in in his civilian clothes and face a mixture of excited and concerned. Honey eyes lit up as they spotted Lance but the smile slipped some as Lance could not return it.

He instead could feel tears forming again.

“Ah, Yellow Paladin,” Lotor greeted and Hunk’s gaze was drawn to Lotor. “I trust my staff was of assistance in your arrival?”

“Yeah, nice dudes. Um, is Lance—?”

“He is very tired,” Lotor cut in. “This has been an… exhausting several quintants for him.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Lance’s eyes closed and he swallowed back the whimper.

Not Hunk too.

“Allura said it got really bad,” Hunk continued. “And you… you took care of him?”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Well, we really appreciate it.”

Lance bit his lip and felt a tear break free.

Someone tapped his shoulder and Lance’s eyes flew open, Hunk’s face hovering above him and a soft gentle smile on his face.

“Hey, _hermano,”_ Hunk murmured, bringing a hand up to Lance’s cheek. “You feeling better?”

Lance’s lip trembled.

Hunk’s smile slipped again, replaced with a frown.

“Lance?”

Lance weakly shook his head against the pillow, that motion exhausting him.

Hunk’s frown grew more pronounced.

“Is there a problem?” Lotor asked from behind.

“He’s pretty upset,” Hunk said, an edge in the words.

“He is merely overwhelmed and tired,” Lotor said smoothly.

Hunk didn’t reply but shifted an arm beneath Lance’s shoulders and the other under his bare knees and lifted him up.

Lance pressed his head into Hunk’s chest. His hands, still on his stomach, twitched ever so and he managed to hook a few fingers into the loose folds of Hunk’s shirt.

He clung as tightly as he could to it.

More tears trickled down his cheeks.

He could feel Hunk stiffen.

“ _¿Estás bien?”_ Hunk murmured.

Lance paused.

And then gave the barest shake of his head.

Hunk’s arms tightened about him.

It hurt a bit but…

But for the first time in days Lance felt…

_Safe._

_“¿Qué ocurre?”_ Hunk asked just as quietly.

What’s wrong?

Lance managed another shake of his head.

He couldn’t say.

He could never say it.

Hunk straightened then and Lance felt him take a step and turn around, no doubt to face Lotor.

Lance hid his face against Hunk.

He didn’t ever want to see him again.

“Thank you,” Hunk said again, but it had lost its warmth. “I can show myself out.”

“Safe travels, Paladin. And…” Lance heard the footstep before he felt the hand alight on his cheek. He shuddered as the fingers brushed away the tears. “Take care, Lance. Until we see each other again.”

Lotor stepped back then and Lance could _feel_ the haste in which Hunk exited the infirmary although his pace slowed as they entered a hallway.

“Lance? Lance, what’s going on?”

He couldn’t answer that.

He just...

“H-Hunk,” Lance’s hand tightened his shirt. “Please. I just… just…” a sob choked him off. “I want to go h-home,” he finished breathlessly.

Away from Lotor.

From his touches. His smiles.

His games.

He didn’t want to be a toy any more, broken or otherwise.

“We are, we are,” Hunk murmured. “We’re going home, _hermano._ We’re almost to Yellow. Hang on.”

They were boarding the ramp a few moments later and Lance felt himself being lowered to the cot in the compartment behind the cockpit.

He tried to tighten his fingers but they slipped free and a moment later he was lying on the narrow bed. There was a breeze of cloth and then a blanket, the scratchy emergency one, was being draped over him.

Lance had stopped feeling cold from the fever and the chills…

But in that moment he had never felt colder.

“Lance—”

“Hunk, please. _Por favor. Quiero ir a casa.”_

He couldn’t answer anything else.

Not now.

Not…

Not ever.

“Okay,” came Hunk’s soft reply. “Okay, _hermano.”_ A hand brushed against his head, warm and gentle. “Just gonna strap you in, okay? Let me know if they’re too tight.”

Hunk did so with a tenderness that made new tears spring to Lance’s eyes as the buckle was fed across his chest and another on his thighs.

“Okay?”

“ _S-sí._ ”

“We’ll be at the castle soon,” Hunk said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Just hang tight.”

Hunk’s lumbering gait moved to the front of the cockpit and Lance opened his eyes, taking in the criss-crossing beams of the Yellow Lion’s interior.

He was going home, to the castle.

He’d left there feverish and sick.

And he was returning…

Returning even more so.

 _“I win,”_ Lotor’s whisper echoed in his head.

Lance let out a sob.

Yes.

Lotor had won the game.

And Lance…

Lance had lost so much more. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap! I am still debating if I want to write a third part to this with some actual good resolution for Lance, so we shall see. Series is being left unfinished for now but if I change my mind I’ll mark it closed. I hope in any case you all enjoyed this part of it and I'm *very* proud of myself for how it all tied back into _Trust In Me_ , hehe! Was Lotor what you thought he was? ;p I’d really love to hear your thoughts on **this** fic (and the response will help me decide as to continue or not) so please leave a comment before you go ♥
> 
> And also, no season 8 spoilers or discussion please. I want to keep this spoiler free completely. I do have reactions on my Tumblr if you want to read/comment there.


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